[CHAPTER XVI.]
IN WHICH PHIL STRUGGLES EARNESTLY TO REFORM HIS FATHER.
The skilful ministrations of Mrs. Greenough soon restored my father to himself. He had probably eaten nothing since he took his breakfast with me early in the morning, and his frame was not in condition to bear the pressure of the strong emotions which had agitated him.
"My son!" exclaimed he, as the incidents which had just transpired came back to his mind.
"My father!" I replied.
He extended his trembling hand to me, and I took it. It would have been a blessed moment to me if I could have forgotten what he was, or if I could have lifted him up from the abyss of disgrace and shame into which he had sunk. I hoped, with the blessing of God, that I should be able to do this in some measure. I determined to labor without ceasing, with zeal and prayer, to accomplish this end.
"I pity you, my son," said my father, covering his eyes with his hands. It can be no joy to you to find such a father."
"I should not be sincere, father, if I did not say I wished you were different."